https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/joshuampatton.com/www2016-12-10T03:26:12.146ZPosts of What's Happening:Google Sites1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/joshuampatton.com/www/87177900879236390572014-01-18T23:19:21.684Z2014-01-18T23:19:21.688Z2014-01-18T23:19:21.680ZBeen a long time...so on, so forth

So, it's been over a year since I have updated this blog. But, I figured since I updated the look of the site it might be worthwhile to jot down some thoughts. I suppose the reason I don't write on this thing steadily is because I have spent most of the past year writing full time for various outlets. My busiest week was 12,000 publishable words (which was exhausting).

Currently, I am writing regularly for Veteran Journal, Opposing Views, Piccolo Universe, as well as some freelance outlets. I am also always working on fiction. My first serial fiction attempt did not really "catch on." There are two episodes left plotted and I may finish them if interest picks up or I find myself with some time.

Although, without the renewed interest, I will probably be spending most of my time on my current serial The Prophet Hustle published on JukePop Serials. It's a kind-of fantasy, kind-of sci-fi, kind of thriller about a man who becomes a prophet for a little known god.

What this current serial has in common with the last one is that I am switching up narrative P.O.V. and telling the story in a non-linear fashion. It's gotten a decent response on the JukePop site, but I am wondering if my approach discourages rather then encourages readers while it unfolds.

That's why, for my next serial story I am going to stick to a more straightforward approach. It's a story about a character who premieres in the fourth chapter of The Prophet Hustle. Her group--called the Antagonists--is like the FBI when it comes to celestial matters. It's a framework that could support multiple stories, I think.

Kanye West Doesn’t Care About White People

The Today Show interview
is analogous to the problem that the haters (as identified by President Bush)
have with Kanye. When ODB stormed the
Grammy stage, he didn’t receive nearly as much backlash as ‘Ye. But Dirty got his own microphone. Yeezy is well known for his unadulterated
dismay at being overlooked for awards, because he knows he’s the most deserving. There’s no denying his musical genius. Claire
Tomko, a hilarious writer outta my clan, believes Kanye is the voice of her
generation. “Kanye West is the only artist who deserves to have a big ego,” she
said, “He’s Kanye fucking West.” It wasn’t even narcissism because Kanye was
speaking on behalf of another artist. The problem with the VMA stunt was that
he snatched the microphone away from lily-white Taylor Swift to extoll the
virtue of his friend and Big Homey’s babymama Beyoncé. Entertainment anchors gleefully speculated
that Kanye was racist himself.

It’s not that Kanye doesn’t appreciate white culture. Musically, I was raised with one foot in
hip-hop and the other in heavy metal.
When I was listening to My
Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, the song “Hell of a Life,” came on. The opening melody is electronic, but sounds
like a guitar being played with a lot of distortion. I was immediately reminded of the way Black
Sabbath opened many of their songs. No sooner had I finished the thought than
the chorus of the song mimics Ozzy Osbourne’s singing style from Iron Man. White culture doesn’t get much whiter than
Black Sabbath and Beavis & Butt-head’s signature song.

Matt Lauer, with his embarrassing hairline and milquetoast
quasi-journalist demeanor, sought only to chastise Kanye during that interview
as if he was speaking to an unruly thirteen year-old and not the most
significant hip-hop artist still making records that captures and keeps the
attention of America all the way up to its Presidents. An atypically reserved Kanye attempted to
carefully phrase his answers with contrition and nuance. Lauer continuously interrupts, restating
Kanye’s answers in a manner that both reduces their substance and better fits
the soft-spoken narrative he was attempting to weave. Lauer didn’t want to hear Kanye’s side of the
story; he wanted America to sit in judgment of Kanye with Lauer’s smugness as
the proxy. Yeezy wasn’t having that shit
from that glib motherfucker.

She only has one post right now and would most likely be mortified that I am promoting it here, but she can shut up. Actually, I don't think she can, which is why this blog is going to be a good one. As a writer (I have read a number of her student works) she strives for a professional and lyrical tone. She obsesses over every detail and never thinks what she comes up with is good enough.

However, this first blog post is the first time I have seen her capture her delightfully crass conversational style in her writing. Take this excerpt, "You know, if the weekdays were all siblings, all real flesh and blood individuals, Monday would be the pouty son-of-a-bitch sandwiched between his prissy-pious sister, Sunday, and the goofy, giggly Tuesday. Monday is just, blah, right there hating everything and everyone. Goddamn pouting." Unlike traditional blogs that center on a theme, I get the sense that this blog will be more of an online diary and the benefit will be the reader.

The author is a delightful collection of contradictions. She is a sorority girl, but one that would much rather drink beer and talk about books than don a glittery shirt and yell "Woo!" every time some muscle-neck buys her a shot that tastes like The Kool-Aid Man's backwash. She comes from a loving family and a good neighborhood, but only has nightmares (Let's just hope "kitten skins" makes it into a future post). She graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a degree in Writing and History, but wants to spend some time working shit-jobs in the real world so she has something to write about other than her family life and college. If only you could read it in her voice. "Motherfucker," has never sounded so lilting.

So as I wrap up my time at the University of Pittsburgh, I have had the good fortune to study with some great writers and artists. Two of them, Emily O'Donnell and Hadley Pratt, are the editors of the student culture magazine The Original which is preparing to release it's 11th issue. The magazines are free and located on-campus and other select locations.

For the 11th issue, I profiled slam poet and Pitt professor, Adriana Ramirez. Emily took the photos and wrote a sidebar to the piece about how Adriana uses World of Warcraft in her classes. It was great to work with my friend. Also, I am happy to have my work in a magazine edited by Hadley. My friend Vincent Mok has some articles in the magazine, too. When I won the two Writer's Cafe/Prosody writing contests, Nina Sabak has some poetry in there, too. It's a great publication. Hadley and Emily did a fantastic job overseeing the work of the staff of the magazine. Congratulations on the magazine, I am proud to have been part of it.

This year I began (what I hope) is my last year before graduation and I finally had to do some academic accounting to see how close I was to finishing the program. I admit, I did not approach my academic career at the University of Pittsburgh in the best way, at least with respect to grade point average and meeting general education requirements. Rather than choosing classes from a checklist, I selected courses based on my interest in the subject or working with the particular professor.

I don't understand why post-secondary education is structured the way that this. While these Universities with long and storied history (Pitt is celebrating it's 225th Anniversary this year) benefit from that longevity and experience, it also means that they are more reluctant to change their ways.

Part of the reason for-profit education is so successful at convincing students--especially adult-students who have been out of the school system for a while--to pay higher premiums to attend their institutions. While these companies are not without their administrative bullshit, but that's to be expected when the aim is to keep as much money as possible. With Pitt, it's different.

If I wanted to ensure my entrance into graduate school, I could have taken only easy classes with professors that have high Rate My Professor scores and earned an easy 4.0. While I have studied very little pedagogy, I do think that the University system should move away from the same grading system that happens in high school. I don't even know what sort of evaluation system I would put in its place, but it feels antiquated and counter-productive to encouraging people to challenge themselves intellectually. So far I am doing okay with a 3.76, so it's not like I am doing terribly. I just don't think the system works.

She started the car and the end of the 10,000 Maniacs cover
of “Because the Night,” blared from the speakers. I didn’t know that then, but
that version of the song was very familiar. Still, it always was a little soft
for the metalhead that I was in the 90s. I had to avoid girl music.

“Oh shit,
no,” she said and restarted the song from the beginning. I laughed. She put the windows down and opened the
sunroof. The heat pounded in the window,
but almost immediately the swell of the music seemed to keep it at bay.
Pittsburgh in August can be brutal, but the car felt open, freer. The music
played on, spilling from the windows into crowded city streets as we idled in
front of the red light. People were staring, and she turned to me. Her face had
sharp angles, that when arranged into the smile she wore at the moment made her
perfect. Before she turned towards the people on the sidewalk staring at the
car, she twisted her face into a hard sneer. She leaned back in her seat and
nodded her head to the beat, as if listening to the Wu-Tang Clan instead of a
crooning Natalie Merchant. I laughed again. By the next red-light, I wore a
similar sneer and randomly gesticulated at line breaks in the lyrics. The
stares sent our way asked a hundred questions that were only answered with
insatiable laughter as we sped away when the light turned green.

Studying at the University of Pittsburgh, I have had the good fortune to meet and befriend many other talented writers. The talent, however, was over-distributed to one Nina Sabak. She swept the poetry category in last year's Writer's Cafe/Prosody contest and now she has won the first College Student Poetry Contest held by the Poetry Society of New Hampshire (who despite thinking my name is "Joseph Patten" cashed a check from that Joshua Patton sucker). Don't let the "College Student," part of that fool you either. She would have wiped the floor with any scarf-wearing, grey-beards or other professional poets if they dared to test her skills.

Naming the Moutain is her first chapbook and it is available from the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. All one must do is write a check or get a money order for six dollars and send that shit to:

Poetry Society of New Hampshire

31 Reservoir Road

Farmington, NH 03835

Fellow writers and poets however, I caution you. This chapbook is good. So good in fact that an unavoidable side-effect can be an unwarranted envy towards Nina. Extreme hateration. Luckily, you can just reread the book a few more times. The second time around you realize you'll never be that good, and then on the third read-through, you figure that what-the-hell, you're okay with your lot in life and go back to your mediocre science-fiction....

In all seriousness, this book is great and so is it's writer. Buy it. You will not be sorry.

It seems appropriate that I used a gift-card to the University Bookstore, earned for my participation in a literature conference, to purchase a collected volume of Philip K. Dick stories. The collection contains the inspirations for the movies Total Recall, Paycheck, Minority Report, and the 1995 turd on film Screamers. I've read about a third of the book and it is fantastic. I am not reading the stories in order, but instead I am selecting them at random, dependent solely on my whims when I sit down to read.

One story entitled "The Eyes Have It," is a delightful departure from the normally heavy, dire stories that Dick is known to write. In the story, the narrator becomes aware of a conspiracy through reading a poorly-written novel. My intention is not to spoil it, but I will say that using the narrator's logic...evidence is EVERYWHERE.

Another notable story was entitled "War Veteran," and it is a very interesting scenario Dick crafts here. The titular character is a man out of his time, and those he meets only seek to exploit him. While the science fiction elements of the story serve the ultimate plot, I wonder if the alienation and total lack of concern that the Veteran gets from those he encounters is something Dick did intentionally or if I am just extrapolating something from my own perspectives to fit in the context of this story.

Dick's writing may not be as disciplined as some other literary sci-fi writers, but it is all STORY. His characters are all flawed and in a big way. Effective science fiction captures the moods and attitudes of the present-day world and incorporates it into a scenario that is alien in time or space. Dick does this almost effortlessly, capturing visions of futures that tell the reader more about the time during which the story was published than any realistic attempt to predict what's to come.

Along with Stephen King, George Lucas was integral to my childhood, specifically my childhood with respect to fictional characters. I didn't have a father, so it's no wonder why Temple of Doom is my favorite Indiana Jones movie. Short Round was a little Asian me. He even did karate, just like I will when I grow up...I digress. I would always have to defend it from others who said that it was "the worst one." When Indy 4 finally came out, it was actually the best gift they could have given me. I haven't had to defend Temple of Doom since.

I don't have much in the way of religion, either. However, insomuch that I do my pantheon, my mythology, my religion is Star Wars. When I heard that the prequels were finally happened, it was like the second-coming. I took my girlfriend at the time (who hadn't seen any Star Wars) to the first movie and was not willing to admit I was disappointed. In fact, to this day, I am disappointed with neither new entry into the canon of the hallowed characters of my youth. Sure, they didn't (couldn't) compare to the originals, but Lucas owes us nothing. He was willing to give us more of what we loved (or what he thought we loved) and we've thrown it back in his face, disgusted. I can't figure out if we're assholes or if it is just a testament to Lucas's talent, that we care so much about these made up people.

When I heard about Wind Through the Keyhole, as a stand-alone Dark Tower novel, I was overjoyed. Another favorite series (from my youth, adolescence, adulthood...just see last post) would continue. King didn't owe us anymore, but we got it. I should have seen it as an omen that this story was to be considered (chronologically) book 4.5.

We start with our familiar characters meeting unfamiliar characters and they are on-the-move to avoid a dangerous weather phenomenon known as a "Starkblast." I saw where this was heading and I thought of a certain 17 year-old listening to Metallica on the floor of a hospital hallway (see last post) who would be pissed. Yet, I was almost twice the age of that boy and I was willing, eager even, to revisit Roland's youth with him, before the world moved on.

Another pleasant surprised happened when got into the take of the Skin-Man, but one that spoke to the writer in me. For the first time, King writes Roland using the first-person narrative point-of-view. However, about a hundred pages into the book, I realized where we were headed. It was a story that framed the telling of another story that framed the telling of a THIRD story. This one with none of our familiar characters (save for a King villain staple). This story-within-a-story-within-another-story takes up just over half of the book. A little over three-hundred pages, we only get 146 with Roland.

Yet, we were owed no more books about this world, so the fact that we got anything is great. Perhaps there will be more stand-alone stories or perhaps this is the final window into Mid-World. Is this a "must-have" book for fans of the series? No. But is it a book worth reading? Sure. Just, if you are rabid fan of The Dark Tower, lower your expectations and be pleasantly surprised.

Joshua M. PattonAdministrator@joshuampatton.combreakingwindthroughthekeyhole4https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/joshuampatton.com/www/10558979797227755972012-06-02T21:55:37.488Z2012-06-02T21:55:37.493Z2012-06-02T21:55:37.481ZWind Up My Keyhole: My History with The Dark Tower

Much like every writer that has been formed in the bowels of nerd Hades, Stephen King is very responsible for how much I wanted to write. In fact, after reading a few of his novels as a very young (too young, really) child, I even wrote him a letter telling him how much I hoped to supplant him as one of the most successful living American writers, or maybe it was more of a fan letter...who really knows? What shocked me was getting a signed postcard as a reply, along with words of encouragement. So since I was Stephen King-approved, I dove into his works. And I found The Gunslinger.

I am not sure when I started reading The Dark Tower series, but I remember reading the third book and wondering how he was going to bring the series to a close, with only a few pages left to read. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that it wasn't a trilogy. So, I had to wait. This was before the internet and communication was done through a series of smoke-signals and banging on rocks. There was no information about when the next book in the series would be published. I was a mess. Later, when fans of the show LOST would be panicked and half-crazy because they couldn't wait for whatever was next, I would bend down, give them a sip of water and tell them, "I started reading The Dark Tower in the 80's." And they look at me, thankful, because they know I understand.

Flash-forward to Christmas 1997. I was elated, because two things for which I had been waiting for were under my tree. The first new Metallica album since their eponymous "Black Album," and Dark Tower IV: Wizard and Glass. I had my discman ready to go with the CD and the book ready to crack. Then, my grandmother had a heart attack. Don't worry she's fine. Well no, actually she's dead now, but she lived for many years after this particular occurence. I have a very clear memory however of sitting on the floor in the hallway of Suburban General Hospital (also now dead) and listening to Metallica and going to Mid-World.

I am certain it was because of the amount of hype that I had been building for both of these things and the fact that my little teenage heart was broken and terrified that my grandmother was about to die, but both of these pieces of art, the album and the book, let me down. I have since gone back and revisited these works and realize that they are quite good. But at the time, I wanted more thundering metal and more Roland and the Gang following the Beam and fightin' bad guys. I did not want Marianne Faithful and a hundreds of pages-long flashback.

When the series was finally over, I finished the final book on my rack in Iraq. The end, pissed me off. I seethed, calling it a cop-out and horseshit, but again, it was the problem of anticipation. Just like those LOST fans can tell you, the end of a story you love never quite meets your expectations (sole exception: Harry Mutha-Effin' Potter). I have yet to reread that final book, but when I do, I bet it will be different. Anticipation makes for harsher criticism than is sometimes deserved....

(This blew up longer than I expected. The actual post about "Wind Through the Keyhole," shall follow this lengthy one. But, I think you needed the context to understand what's coming.)

I was applying for writing gigs and one editor wanted a short paragraph "describing your favorite store." I found this request a little silly at first (and a little sexist since the ad was for "Women's Interest writers,")but when I thought about what is my favorite store, I realized that it was the comic book shop in my neighborhood growing up.

It was a paradise for children, Toys & Hobbies from
Rainbow III. The store’s name had much of the same effect on kids as
did George Lucas starting Star Wars with Episode IV. It made one think
that there was more out there, something they missed. It was full of
toys, comic books, and models, but that isn’t why it was my favorite
store. We were a poor family and I had a weekly allowance of two dollars,
which wasn’t much even back then. What made this place magical were Gene
and Gwen, the owners. I’d walk in, surrounded by the pantheon of
superheroes that allowed a wheezy, unatheletic kid to dream of secret
identities and hidden powers.

They knew I had no intentions for purchase,
but they wouldn’t care if I spent hours with them talking about the stories of
Spider-Man or Batman, and sometimes, about my own troubles. While it might have
been a ploy for sales, Gene often encouraged me to purchase two copies of
much-loved – yet ultimately expected to be collectible – comics, telling me
to look at it as an investment.

He soon realized that it was futile. No
amount of implied riches were worth more to me than the 15 or 20 minutes I
could escape into the universes of Marvel or DC. Eventually, he saw them
as an investment of a different kind, an investment in my imagination and
growth as a storyteller. Sadly, it closed before I could take my own daughter
there. She is growing up in a time where Comic Book movies are the norm and access to stories is much greater than it was. Even though my daughter has inherited my innate cynicism, she too would have been simultaneously lost and at home in Toys & Hobbies from Rainbow III.

Wherever you are, Gene and Gwen, thanks for playing a big role in getting this nerd through adolescence, but not quite out of it.

I had never read The Stranger by Albert Camus, but its reputation preceded it. While I personally have never drifted towards existentialist thinking, I recognize that some might find it important. Without taking into consideration the philosophical lessons of the book, as a story I was unimpressed with the novel. The characters, especially that of Meursault, make no choices in the book. The character of the Prosecutor, or more accurately the content of his argument, struck me as unbelievable to the point of being absurd (which may have been Camus's intention). It seemed that the character of Meursault made only one real choice: to shoot the Arab four more times after his initial shot. As a reader, I wanted an explanation for this action and know that were this a piece of student-fiction and not a much-revered book, any professor or peer-critic would say the same.

The closest thing I have to a religion is Star Wars. Whenever someone over the age of 16 tells me that they have never seen a Star Wars film, rather than preach the virtues of the space opera, I merely look at them with pity. Because even if the person does watch the movie (and enjoys it) they still will not have seen it as a child. Nor will the special effects within the movie seem as magical as they did to children in the late seventies and early eighties. Thus, I feel the is why my reaction to The Stranger is what it is. This is a book for high school English classes or young readers still forming their ideas about the world. Reading this book for the first time, I have the disadvantage of my experiences and world-view. Meursault is just an ass, as is Marie, Raymond, and the Prosecutor, among others. While I see the value this book has as a piece of literature, as a reader I am merely glad it was short.

I have read George Orwell's Animal Farm about a half-dozen times and I always reread it during an election year. This book is perhaps the best book about politics ever written. While Orwell originally wrote this book to aim criticism at Stalin and what Orwell saw as the bastardization of socialism, I think that the book is applicable to the American political process today.

While many comparisons can be made, I shall only highlight the one that I think may be the most important moral in Orwell's political fable: the pigs' transformation into humans. I noticed this during the 2008 election, specifically the hope that was put into then-candidate Obama and the change that he might bring. Obama seemed to be different -- in areas other than his skin color -- even though his electorate placed loftier hopes on his Presidency than any man could actually achieve. Yet, like Napolean and the other pigs changed from four-legged animals living the same as the others to two-legged whiskey-drinking animals that slept in beds, many of those most hopeful about Obama feel that he has changed in much the same way. They elected a smooth-talking, basketball-playing, pragmatist who, after inauguration, became an ineffective communicator, played golf, and seemed just like the politicians Americans are used to having fuck up their lives.

Senator McCain had also gone through similar changes. In 2000 he was truly the maverick candidate who seemed to care more about his principles than the "right moves" to be elected. Throughout the Bush-43 Administration and the 2008 election, he had been warped into a shell of his former self. He backed positions he didn't believe in four or eight years previously. The 2009 became about the victory, perhaps stemming from a sense of entitlement, and less about what America (or Manor Farm) needed. It seems that once in the farmhouse, it is hard to avoid eventually walking on two legs.

That is the beauty of Orwell's "Fairy Story." It is applicable in almost any situation despite being specifically critical of Stalin and the Soviets -- the horn and hoof flag described sounds very much like the hammer and sickle of the Soviet flag. I reread it during election years because it makes it easier, with the details fresh in my mind, to apply to the current circumstances. It hasn't failed yet.

This past semester, I was in Thora Brylowe's Enlightenment to Revolution class, which focuses on the literature of the eighteenth century. Outside of Twain and Edgar Allan Poe, I hadn't read and had little use for literature written prior to the twentieth century. However, after this course I have a new appreciation for the works Richardson, Johnson, Walpole, Austen, among others. After our final class, standing outside of the Cathedral of Learning (which had just experienced what may have been the final bomb threat in the deluge of bomb threats Pitt experienced this semester), Dr. Brylowe suggested that the work of Philip K. Dick dealt with much of the same themes as the work we had been reading in class. On the strength of her recommendation, I read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.

While this book was not exactly the work Dr. Brylowe was referring to, I have been meaning to read this book for some time. Blade Runner has a special place in my heart. It was the first R-rated movie I ever saw (and the first pair of breasts I ever saw on-screen as well - the lovely Joanna Cassady). Yet, the book is vastly different than the film.

The most interesting difference, I think, is the inclusion of the new religion Mercerism. Humans place their hands on an empathy box and are joined with the thoughts of others. When Deckard and his wife purchase a live goat, she wants to use the empathy box to share their joy with the others. Deckard doesn't want to do this because it would mean that they would lose the feeling of joy because the emotions of the others would influence them as well. Still, he takes the handles and has a conversation with the image of Mercer (who is revealed to be an actor on a soundstage). Later, Mercer appears to Deckard before he retires the final androids and after an android kills his goat, flees to the radioactive sand dunes in Oregon to act out Mercer's eternal climb up a mountain.

Of course, Mercerism and the empathy boxes are technology, but since they are never explained they might as well be magic. Mercerism employs empathy, something the androids lack, and as much as it is a religion it is also an example of how the humans are different from the androids. Deckard, through empathy for the androids and the joining of his consciousness to the other Mercerites, is clearly a human in this story. Whereas Ridley Scott, the director of Blade Runner, has said that he imagined that Deckard was in fact an android. This changes the story considerably and frankly I think that Deckard as a human makes both stories much more resonant. An excellent book overall.

Part of my problem with updating my unimpressive weblog is that I am never quite sure what to write about. I have seen that some blogs have specific focuses - such as my friend Vincent's fashion blog -- and others that are just journal-like entries on a myriad of topics -- such as my friend Chuck's blog. Mine, however is not so easily defined or updated that frequently.

In an effort to change all that, I am going to publish short reviews of the books I read this summer. Some of these books are well-read, but for some reason, I haven't read them yet. Others will be books written by members of the writing faculty at the University of Pittsburgh. And whatever else may strike my fancy. Suggestions are always welcome.

Well it has been awhile since I have been driven to the internet to write nonsense on my own webpage. It has been a tumultuous few months in which my car has become decidedly untrustworthy, my time working for the English Department is at an end, and I was tossed from a college bar onto the sidewalk just like it's done on TV and in the movies. The last one really twists my ankle because (along with twisting my ankle) I don't think I was entirely wrong in that case. Sure, I was being a loud but good-natured ass, but I was peaceful. I wanted no violence and the same could not be said for the sweater-boy sweetie that wanted to take me outside and punch my face. I suppose it is one of the curses that go along with being a people-person.

I have had some good writerly times though. I have been working on a rather large fiction project, a series of stories that I hope to get placed in various journals. However, I did just sell an unrelated short story for inclusion in an upcoming anthology. More details to follow. It is poetic since the story sold was my first effort at fiction after a seven or eight-year hiatus from the practice of make-believe.

Also, I had an essay published in The Hot Metal Bridge, a literary journal put together by the University of Pittsburgh MFA students. The link is to the left.

Finally, two of my poems swept the poetry category of the 2012 Writer's Cafe/Prosody contest. I will read them on Prosody Saturday, April 28, 2012 at 6:30 A.M on 90.5 FM Essential Public Radio.

What's been happening is that I have ignored my site for a few months. I am seemingly terrible at blogging regularly, especially since my ideas and gripes that would fuel most of the writing are so random and disconnected that there will not really be a chance to build an audience like one might at a food blog, media blog, et. al. My site is one year-old and I only have eight measly posts. I will try to remedy this in the coming year, because I like the idea of a public journal. It speaks to the extroverted narcissist that lives within.

I have added some new content. A literary paper written about Carol Lucci Wisner's essay The Stonehenge and the Louvre Were Cool and a piece I wrote for Matt's Naked Word about public outcry about Rahm Emmanuel calling some Congressional Representatives "retards." While it is old news, I think they overall message still resonates. Also, I like that I was able to successfully predict the Republican electoral wins in February. Perhaps I will add a post to the blog here about how I feel about "taking offense," and why it shouldn't be such a big deal, especially when it comes to words and not actions.

I have really ignored the website this week, which is basically my pattern when it comes to maintaining a presence on the internet. Part of the reason is because I have joined the Pitt English Department as an intern. While not exactly an earth-shattering achievement in either the craft of academia, it is something that I look forward to doing. There are a lot of great writers roaming around the halls of the University of Pittsburgh, and some of them are the teachers. More information about what I am doing at the website below.

Since 5/30/2010, I have written nine short stories. This was after a lull in writing fiction that lasted for more than six years. They are almost 37,000 words, about 130 pages of double-spaced, Times New Roman text. It feels good to have written this much in a year, along with writing nonfiction and poetry and other nonsense too. I like most of them, but I am sure at least three are awful. Still, I look at my nine stories and I feel pretty happy about them. Then, I think of the revision process and dread creeps in. Yet, if I am to submit any of them anywhere, it's something I need to do. I am always looking for readers and feedback, so if you are at all interested, send me an e-mail at JoshPatton@aol.com.

Joshua M. PattonAdministrator@joshuampatton.comnowwritingforandmagazine1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/joshuampatton.com/www/22894523270421604792011-04-02T15:19:57.404Z2011-04-02T16:05:59.639Z2011-04-02T16:05:59.622ZChicken Soup for the Soul: Not Always Inspiring

In the mid-nineties, I wrote a monthly column for America Online's Teen Community. I just wrote about whatever was on my mind, but I remain very proud of this column. Yet, they were lost in an AOL update so none of them exist anymore. If I could find one, I am sure it would be as awful as most of my early writing proves to be. Many of my topics came from lunchroom conversations with my peers. This little column led to much of my initial success. I self-syndicated the columns to a number of regional papers. I don't remember their names, although I did find an old copy of one of them, the Radisson, NY Free Press. This also led to my first freelance article in a California-based magazine Focus: A Magazine for Women, that was an expansion of a piece I wrote about the camaraderie between the boys in my school who became fathers. I used to receive e-mails from readers and enjoyed an inflated sense of grandeur that still persists to this day.

Yet, it wasn't all success. In fact, the success was rather rudimentary and had no real lasting significance. While I would write for the Teen Community section on AOL, I spent most of my time in the section of the service dedicated to writers and writing. I had access in those old forums to many experienced and helpful professionals. There was also a section where writers could find opportunities -- anthologies in need of manuscripts, magazines in need of freelancers, and content for these new-fangled websites. One such advertisement asked for inspirational stories. I don't remember how I did it -- this was on AOL's service, not the web -- but I directed the poster to my articles on AOL and my published clips and waited for a response.

I was in high-school at the time, tenth- or eleventh-grade, and the mid-term exam was legendary for being a real bastard to pass and failure resulted in extra homework for the rest of the year. Also, doing well on the exam meant the possibility of skipping the final. I avoided the internet for a week or ten days, perhaps I was a focused student or barred from using the computer for my sass-mouth or skipping on some chores. When I returned to my e-mail, I was behind on everything. I owed AOL two columns and had a bunch of other writing to do and as I scrolled through my e-mail, I saw that the editors of the anthology had gotten back to me. They liked my work and wanted me to submit something. I had just spoken to a longtime professional in Journalism who had advised me to "never write for free." So, I attempted to negotiate with the editors. I wanted cash I could spend on a CD or a video game or some youthful bullshit. So when they responded by saying they would be willing to negotiate a back-end royalty, I decided that my plate was far too full for such fly-by-night nonsense.

I decided to exercise some internet narcissism and click around my website, with the excuse in mind that I was just "checking to make sure the links worked." Well, 'lo and behold, it turns out the stupid webmaster never added the link to Shot the Sheriff on the fiction page. Well, I fired that swine, but before he left he added the link. So please check it out.

It seems that when I have any serious writing to do, I wait until the last minute to do it. While I never shy away from a project or topic, literary critiques are something that I have rarely done and find a little boring, giving how citation-heavy it is. Still, it can be fun. I recently looked at the Novella Passing written by Nella Larsen, specifically the point-of-view character and how her actions can be explained via Freud's theories on paranoia. I am actually not a big fan of Freud's sexual theories. He was a wild thinker and, according to The Cocaine Papers, fun at a party, but his sex theories are more indicative that he's a Freudian Freak. The thing that pissed me off was that it worked. By applying the theories to the text, it effectively proved the case I was trying to make. I even found a way to tie in the damn Oedipus Complex. Maybe Freud isn't as full of shit as I thought?

Whatever. Even a broken clock is in love with it's mother and wishes it had a penis twice a day.

So in this first week of existing as an internet entity, I have found it to be immensely satisfying to type my name into that address bar and see something that I created. Even though anyone with ten bucks and some time to invest can do it, somehow I feel more legit. I have a weblog -- that I have mostly ignored but to have one is a necessity in this techno-publishing, 21st-century digital-age. But what the hell to write about? I certainly don't want to get involved in that SEO, product-review bullshit that dominates the monetized internet. Look, I enabled Ad Sense on this page, but it was just a click. I see ads for awful companies, like The University of Phoenix, but I might earn $.10 from some dummy clicking on it. So until I have some books to sell, you are on your own, readers. The problem is, along with the arrogance necessary to attempt a career in making stuff up there is also a sense of duty that any of your work you push on the public should at least attempt to inform and/or entertain. I am open to suggestions....